


Erebor's Seventh Annual (Un)official Drinking Contest

by CappuccettoRosso



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Bagginshield Summer Surprise Event, Drunk Dwarves, Drunk Elves, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Sneaky Hobbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CappuccettoRosso/pseuds/CappuccettoRosso
Summary: Bilbo gets the last laugh.





	Erebor's Seventh Annual (Un)official Drinking Contest

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain's Bagginshield Summer Surprise prompt: _"Do you always make your fruit punch that strong?"_ I got Bilbo's POV.

* * *

 

Bilbo hummed a jaunty tune as he cut a pineapple into small squares. The exotic fruit was a new import he had managed to wrangle out of their latest trade deals.  Along with the pineapple, there was cut oranges, lemons, blueberries and two beautiful melons. The pineapple, in particular, turned out to be a fine, juicy specimen. Unable to resist, Bilbo popped a piece of pineapple into his mouth. He hummed again, with pleasure at the sweet taste.

Beside him, Nori eyed the spread dubiously.

“So let me get this straight,” Nori began, waving a lazy finger over the fruit; “this is going to get King Weed Eater stupid drunk.”

Bilbo popped another square of fruit into his mouth. He rolled his eyes at Nori. “Of course not. This is for my Baggins’ special fruit punch.”

“Uh-huh.” Nori reached for one of the bottles lined to the side. “You do know that your Lord Husband has already tried seven types of rum, ten types of ale, and that spicy monstrosity out of Far Harad.”

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. He wiped his sticky hands on a damp cloth. “Yes, that was an… interesting drink.”

Nori snorted. “Interesting, the Hobbit says. It made even poor Bofur sick as a dog, and that Dwarrow likes his spirits.”

Bilbo smirked. “What can I say, we Hobbits are made out of sterner stuff.”

“Yeah, well, at least, your stomachs are.” Nori put the bottle of rum down. He leaned against the counter and eyed the rest of the Royal Kitchens. The place was bustling with Dwarrow tending bubbling pots, preparing a variety of fresh produce and meats. Carefully cooked meats were neatly arranged on large plates and promptly carried out of the kitchen by a steady stream of servers, out to the dining hall beyond, where hundreds of Dwarrow were celebrating the seventh anniversary of the reclamation of Erebor.

Nori took out a small knife and began to play with it. “The King has become so desperate that he even shipped in some of that Dorwinion piss water that the poncy Elf likes so much. That was a new low but it just goes to show you just how desperate he’s becoming.”

Bilbo snorted. “Yes. All very tragic, I’m sure. You forget, but I’m married to that ridiculous Dwarrow. I know exactly how desperate he is at winning this silly competition.” A competition born out of the incoherent ramblings of drunken Dwarrow and misinformation about Elves and alcohol. Honestly, to think that Elves can’t get drunk and then consider it a challenge to prove wrong. Such, nonsense.

It was Nori turn to smirk at him. “Not so stupid if you’ve decided to participate.”

Bilbo sniffed. “Hardly. I’m only going to prove a point.”

“Oh?”

“Never underestimate Hobbits,” Bilbo winked at Nori. “Now, if you’re going to loiter around and get in my way, you might as well lend me a hand. Grab that scooper and take this melon and make two dozen little balls. Wash your hands first.”

Nori dutifully washed his hands and set to his unexpected task, delicately scooping out balls of melon.

He watched silently as Bilbo began to mix the fruit juices he had strained several days ago into a large bowl, along with water and sugar. Then Bilbo reached for the alcohol and mixed that into the bowl. He stopped several times to taste it, adding a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Finally, Bilbo nodded his head and reach for a small wooden box Nori hadn’t noticed before.

Bilbo smiled at Nori, and to Nori’s surprise, there was a hint of smugness in Bilbo expression.

“This, my dear friend,” Bilbo began grandly, pulling out a medium-sized jar with a clear liquid inside. Long done with his task, Nori leaned close. Bilbo dutifully held up the jar. The jar’s top was carefully sealed and it had a label that read in pretty cursive: ‘ _ _Gaffer Gamgees’ Moonshine__.’ “This is my piece of resistance, as they say in Gondor. The best moonshine ever to be made in the Shire, and the only one worth knowing in the whole of Arda.”

“Can I have a taste then?” Nori reached for the jar but Bilbo slapped his hand away.

“Nope, this is for very special occasions,” Bilbo said, wagging his finger at Nori. “Besides, we have to build up your endurance before you can even have a taste of this.”

Nori snorted. “Come now, I’m not some Man that can’t hold his liquor.” He tried again and had his hand slapped away a second time.

Bilbo glared at him. “I’ll have you know that this moonshine has been banned from several Mannish cities as far as Gondor. Even Rivendell won’t allow it onto its land.”

Nori raised an eyebrow, expression skeptical. “Oh, really, then how did this get here then.”

Bilbo raised his own eyebrow back at his friend. “I’ve found that Dwarrow are not above smuggling things past Elves. Especially when those same Elves have forbidden them to begin with.”

Nori stopped and inclined his head. Yeah, he would be the first to secretly thumb his nose at Elves. He stared at the jar again, the desire to taste what was inside greater than before now that he knew it was forbidden.

“So,” he drawled, “you are giving this forbidden Hobbit juice to Thranduil?”

Bilbo smiled and it was downright evil.

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t understand children this age,” Thranduil said, half slurring his words. He was slumped forward on the table, an empty glass in his hand. He looked mournfully at it and then, unexpectedly, threw it to the ground.

Bilbo sighed and gestured to an attendant standing near by. That was the third glass he had shattered.

“When I was a child, I was very, very,” Thranduil stopped, stared into the middle distance and then, burped loudly. The sound made Bilbo wrinkle his nose and had the closest group of Dwarrow cheer and raise their glass in his honor. Thranduil waved at them. “I was very obedient.”

Thranduil blinked lazily and turned to Bilbo. “Why does my Leggy-Baby hate me?”

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure he doesn’t, Your Majesty.”

“He does. I can feel it here.” Thranduil pointed at his shoulder. He looked down and then brought his finger a little down. He looked back at Bilbo. “Right here.”

Before he could say anything, Nori came by and set another glass, filled to the brim with Bilbo’s fruit punch. “For your Majesty.”

“I think that’s enough for him,” Bilbo murmured, moving to grab the glass but Thranduil was faster, even in his drunken state, and grabbed it before he could.

“No, it’s mine,” Thranduil said, sounding petulant. “You get your own.” He took a long drink.

Bilbo sighed and glared at Nori as the cheeky bastard left with a wink. A loud snore made him look beside him, at Thorin, who had passed out after the second glass. The poor dear. He would surely die of sheer mortification come morning. Bilbo looked further down, at Dain, who had made it to three but was snoring away just like his cousin.

“I can’t feel my face.”

Bilbo turned back to Thranduil, who was gingerly touching his face. He looked down at empty glass and then back at the Elven King. “What.”

“My head feels heavy,” Thranduil said and gently touch his head, stopping as his finger tips touched his crown. Bilbo saw Thranduil’s eyes widen in amazement. He turned to Bilbo. “I’m an elk.”

Bilbo blinked. “What.”

“I’m an elk,” Thranduil repeated, this time to Legolas, who had suddenly appeared by his father’s side. The poor boy had a long suffering expression on his face, the tips of his ears flushed a fair pink with growing embarrassment. “Is this why you hate me, my curious little chipmunk, because I’m an elk?”

“ _ _Ada__ ,” Legolas whispered harshly, cringing at the use of his baby name. “Come with me. I believe you have had enough.”

Thranduil shook his head rapidly, almost knocking off his crown. “Not until you tell me why you are so mean to your poor father. Is it because I wouldn’t let you keep that injured raccoon? It was a vicious creature and destroyed everything! Or because I had to shave your head? You had lice! There was no other option. Your own fault for sleeping with that furry demon spawn.”

Embarrassment became outright mortification. “What! No! S-stop saying such things. I do not hate you.”

Thranduil looked skeptical. “Or it is because I didn’t approve of that red-haired she-devil that threatened to take you away.”

Legolas looked pained. “Ada...”

“I just can’t take a chance, my spotted fawn. Just think of my grandbabies.”

“She is with Kili now.”

“Good.” Thranduil nodded slowly. “You can never trust a red-head.”

Legolas grabbed his father’s arm and helped him to his feet. “Of course, Father.”

“Promise me. You shall pick a proper mate, one that does not have red-hair.”

“I promise.”

Bilbo watched with mild amusement as Legolas led his father away, Thranduil visibly swaying with each step. They didn’t get very far, though. Thranduil stopped suddenly making Legolas almost trip forward.

“ _ _Ada__?”

Thranduil stared at Bard, who looked back with a faint smirk, and then pointed imperiously at him. “Him. I shall fuck him tonight.”

Legolas gaped. Bard choked on his own tongue, it seemed, and Bilbo rubbed his temples.

“Oh, my.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hamfast Gamgee had witnessed with many curious things as the gardener to the Baggins family, including seeing the only son of the late Bungo and Belladonna Baggins’ come back from his adventure, (which he had unexpectedly dashed off to), with a Dwarf, only to marry him in true Hobbit fashion.

He had thought he had become immune to strange sights, but then, one morning, there was a raven.

A talking raven.

“Are you Hamfast Gamgee?”

Hamfast blinked, opened and closed his mouth, and then finally, answered in a weak voice: “Yes…?”

The bird looked highly unimpressed. “Well, I ain’t got all day.”

Hamfast blinked again and then noticed the letter tied to one of the raven’s feet. “Oh.” Hamfast moved gingerly forward and carefully untied it. The moment he had taken the letter, the raven flew away with a sharp ‘caw.’

Hamfast watched it go, feeling rather bemused. He could have easily dismissed the whole thing as a disturbing figment of his imagination but then, there was a letter in his hand. Hamfast carefully unfolded it and blinked as a small piece of parchment fell out. He made to pick it up but became distracted by the fancy elvish script and unexpectedly, his name, peppered throughout. Hamfast opened and closed his mouth. He looked up and turned in a circle, hoping to catch sight of the raven again. He looked at the legal document-- because it couldn’t be anything else--it looked too formal.

Then he remembered the piece that had fallen out. Hamfast looked down and picked up the piece. More familiar Hobbit-y script met his eyes.

_‘My dear Hamfast,_

_It is official! Your moonshine is banned on this side of the Misty Mountains. I thought you would like to have a copy of the Woodland Realm’ latest royal decree officially banning your lovely moonshine. Of course, my ridiculous_ dwarrow _wish to open negotiations with me as an intermediary, but that is a conversation for another day._

_Your friend,_

_Bilbo son of Bungo_

_Lord Consort of Erebor’_

 

__The End_ _


End file.
